


i'll take you in pieces

by clavicular



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood, Bloodplay, Codependency, Dark, Dark Romance, Jealousy, M/M, Murder, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clavicular/pseuds/clavicular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott’s hands are covered in blood. It’s the first thing Stiles notices. It’s all down his front too and his knees are drenched, dark patches emerging where he’s been leaning in it, but his hands are what Stiles sees. It’s always the hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll take you in pieces

Scott’s hands are covered in blood. It’s the first thing Stiles notices. It’s all down his front too and his knees are drenched, dark patches emerging where he’s been leaning in it, but his hands are what Stiles sees. It’s always the hands.

 The stranger’s body is face down between them on the floor of their hotel kitchenette. They’re going to have to do something about that soon and Stiles is already working on their options, but Scott’s eyes are fixed on him. Stiles can’t bring himself to move. Scott’s arms hang by his sides, claws retracted, and tiny drops of blood slide from his fingers onto the kitchen tiles. Stiles is never quite sure what Scott’s seeing in moments like this. To anyone else he would look feral, out of control, but Stiles knows better. Scott always knows exactly what he’s doing. 

 (He asked Scott about it once, about what he saw in those moments. They were lying together on a narrow, single-bed mattress, Stiles curled against Scott’s side. A street light was flickering outside their window, Stiles remembers. His fingers traced constellations and knife wounds across Scott’s chest. Stiles remembers too that Scott didn’t answer right away - remembers how silence filled the room after he spoke, how his heart constricted as he wondered if he’d done something wrong. Scott had stroked Stiles’ hair back then, and pressed their foreheads together.)

 “What do we know about him?” Stiles asks, because even if it’s hard to think with Scott looking at him like that, it could be important. Stiles knows what it’s like to take a life, the incredible rush of forcing a blade into someone’s vital organs and tearing through them. Afterwards, though, it’s always like this. Stiles deals with the logistics and keeps them both safe; Scott is the one that basks.    

 Scott sets a heel under the man’s chin and pushes his head up so Stiles can see his face. It shouldn’t mean anything to Stiles. It shouldn’t, but…

 Stiles looks up at Scott with wide eyes. He recognizes the man. They’d been at the same bar together earlier in the night, had even chatted for a while. He’d bought Stiles a drink.

 “Scott?” Stiles whispers.

 Another drop of blood hits the tiles. Scott unsheathes his claws. 

  _(I wish I could show you_ , Scott said, still running his hands through Stiles’ hair.  _You’d love it, I know you would. I’ve never felt anything like it._

 He paused, blushing, and leaned in to kiss the corner of Stiles’ lips. When he spoke again, his voice was almost shy.

  _Well. Maybe once._ )

 Scott kicks the corpse’s head back down again and steps over it.  Stiles  _wants_ that, the carelessness of it, the viciousness. He wants to take in everything, to memorize every detail of Scott’s form and motion.

 Scott’s eyes haven’t left his face.

 (Stiles doesn’t often think about what Scott said next. It’s superstition and nonsense, but it feels like if he replays the words too many times he could lose them, erased like the memory of a stolen computer. They’re too precious for him to risk it.)

 Scott lunges. Stiles doesn’t even try to fight it, wouldn’t want to if he could. Pain flares up his spine as he crashes against the bench, but Scott is wrapped around him, pinning him in place with an arm around his waist and a set of claws on his cheek, and fuck but that’s worth any agony.

 Blood smears on his clothes and trickles down his face. It’s not his, but if Scott’s claws go any deeper it could be, and Stiles can’t help leaning into the touch. Scott makes a low, guttural sound and drags his fingers down Stiles’ cheek – still not breaking the skin but leaving stripes of sticky blood there anyway.

 “C’mon, more,” Stiles begs. “You think I can’t take it? Make me bleed, Scott,  _please_.”

 Scott’s eyes go dark, but the next time Stiles feels nails on his skin, they’re blunt and human at his collarbone.

 “Later,” he promises, running his thumb up Stiles’ neck. “Once we’ve cleaned up.”

 It’s one of the few things Scott is more meticulous about than him. Stiles knows it’s important, but he wants Scott to take him  _now._ He sighs and nods though, and the smile Scott gets when he acquiesces is almost good enough.

 “Why him?” Stiles asks, nodding to the body. “That was dangerous. You know we were talking, anyone could have seen. If someone makes the connection…”

 Scott’s usually so careful. They both are. Never take anyone who could be traced back to them, don’t follow a type or a pattern… It’s how they work. They keep a low profile when they’re in town and move on before the news spreads. No one should ever think to look closer. They’re just two forgettable kids on a slow, endless road trip.

 Scott’s eyes flash red. Stiles has no idea what he said to trigger that, but growing claws press at Stiles’ jaw before Scott reigns himself in, and fuck, that’s not like him. Scott never loses it, not anymore. Stiles opens his mouth to ask what the hell is going on.

 “He was touching you,” Scott snarls.

 Stiles stares, suddenly numb to the counter digging into his back.

 “You were jealous,” he says, and he can’t keep the wonder out of his voice. It’s never been like that before. Stiles can’t even remember how many times they’ve done this, and it’s never like that. It’s never  _personal_. 

  “I couldn’t… He was talking to you,” Scott says. “He was talking to you and you were laughing. He bought you a drink and you just, you kept talking to him.” He looks away, like he realizes how utterly stupidthat sounds. “And then he  _touched_  you, and I- I couldn’t stand it. I had to.”

 And Stiles’ heart skips a beat. He doesn’t even remember that touch so it can’t have been much. Just the brush of fingers, maybe, or a pat on the back. But Scott saw it. Scott remembered. The idea that such a tiny touch could be enough to do this to Scott, enough to make him almost,  _almost_ lose control… It takes Stiles’ breath away.  

 “Okay,” Stiles says, pulling himself together. “Okay, we have to move his body. There’s a river not far from here, we’ll take the jeep and dump it there. It’ll look like an animal attack anyway. Then we’ll stick around another two nights, until our booking here runs out.”

 Scott nods. They’ll have to scour the kitchen too, and find somewhere to dump their clothes as well as whatever sheets they use to wrap the body. That’s not a big deal, though. Even if the cops decide it’s a murder, there’s no reason they’ll trace it to this hotel room. By the time they did, Scott and Stiles would be long gone. He doubts a place this shady keeps careful records. It’s why they chose it, after all.

 “And after that?” Scott asks.

 There’s a fleck of blood on his cheek, and it catches the light when he tilts his head.  Stiles reaches up and wipes it away.

  _We’ll go wherever you want_ , he thinks. He fists his hands in Scott’s shirt. Now there’s drying blood between his fingers, but Scott smiles at him and Stiles can’t spare a thought for anything else. He pulls Scott towards him, desperate to be closer, and then they’re kissing, bodies grinding together and Scott’s teeth on his lip, brutal in all the ways Stiles wants most. 

 And Stiles remembers what Scott said to him, the night he asked what it was like, how it felt for him in the frantic, glorious moments after a kill. He remembers the way Scott looked at him, and the soft joy in his voice:

  _It’s like falling in love._


End file.
